


Rich and Robust Flavor

by UchiHime



Series: Tumblr Ficlets [6]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, First Meetings, Getting Together, I'm Bad At Summaries, I'm Bad At Tagging, I'm Bad At Titles, Karaoke, M/M, i'm sleep deprived and bad at everything, sorta - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-05
Updated: 2015-03-05
Packaged: 2018-03-16 12:04:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,375
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3487595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UchiHime/pseuds/UchiHime
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve works at a cafe that has karaoke night. When Sam gets up to sing, Steve can't take his eyes away.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rich and Robust Flavor

**Author's Note:**

> Cross-posting this from tumblr. I usually do mini-anthologies of tumblr ficlets, but I haven't written much for this ship, so this gets it's own story.
> 
> The song Sam sings in "Dance with My Father" by Luther Vandross. (I link it in the story. ~~As of the time posting it, this fic has not been proofread.~~ I've taken the time to reread and clean this up a bit, so mistakes should be minimal.

Steve had seen many talented (and just as many not so talented) people in his time working at Java Jive Cafe. They had live bands three days a week, karaoke nights two times a week, and open mic the remaining nights. The cafe’s owner lived by the philosophy that music was the lifeblood of the world and thus people should never be silent. Steve liked his job. Java Jive had a warm atmosphere that always smelled like fresh coffee and there were artsy prints (some of which were Steve’s own work) adorning the walls. There was a small stage for the band, or whatever music event of the night was taking place, and room enough around it for people to get up and dance.

Steve worked there five nights a week: brewing coffee, taking orders, and watching the people come and go. They were good folks: friendly and welcoming and never critical of others. The bands were mostly local talents waiting for their big break and more than one person relied on liquid courage before taking the stage on karaoke night. Everything from opera music to white boys rapping about Jesus Christ had graced the stage of Java Jive. Steve had heard it all.

"Samuel Thomas Wilson, if you don’t get on that stage and sing yo mama a song, I swear ‘fo God…" It was karaoke night and Steve was making a tray of coffees for a group of teens who’d claimed the couch under the window. Steve looked up and glanced around the cafe. The person who’d spoken was an older black woman who’d came in with a small group half an hour before. Her voice carried across the room in the way mothers' do when they were leaving no way to wiggle out of their order. She was staring down a young man about Steve’s age who bore a slight resemblance to her.

"Alright, alright." The man, Steve assumed was Samuel Thomas Wilson, said as he pushed back his chair. Natasha was the emcee of the night and she held out the karaoke mic for the man. Steve turned his attention back to steaming milk and brewing espressos. 

[There was the sound of a piano track](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wmDxJrggie8) that Steve had never heard before, but he was mostly tuning it out. You got used to ignoring the music when you worked at Java Jive. In the next second, the cup of steamed milk in Steve’s hand dropped to the countertop and splashed everywhere as Steve whirled around to face the stage. 

There was always background noise in the cafe, people talking under the music, the sound of the coffee machines and the grills, but in this moment Steve swore the whole world stopped to listen to the young man on stage. Sam’s voice was more rich and robust than any of the coffee they sold, and it carried an undertone of pain and experience that gave Steve goosebumps. The older woman, Sam’s mother, stood in front of the stage with her hands clasped in front of her like a prayer as she watched her son sing. Her’s was not the only wet eye in the room.

Sam had both hands clenched around the microphone, his eyes were closed as if he was digging deep within himself to find the words and emotions for the song. Steve could not take his eyes off of him.

” _Every night I fall asleep and this is all I ever dream,”_ Sam sang. The music faded out and the world was left in a suspended silence, then the whole cafe burst into applause. Steve clapped along as he watched Sam hand the mic back to Natasha and walk off the stage and into his mother’s arms.

"Alright, we’re going to take a brief pause for the cause," Natasha said, startling Steve out of his staring, "you can sign up for a song on the sheet over there and we’ll start back in ten minutes." The radio started playing through the overhead speakers and Steve turned his attention to cleaning up the milk he'd spilled and remaking the coffee orders he’d neglected.

He couldn’t turn his attention completely away from Sam, though. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched as some of the other cafe patrons approached the table where the young man was sitting with his family; they all shook his hand and exchanged some words that left everyone smiling or laughing. Even Natasha wandered over there and if Bucky hadn’t loudly cleared his throat, Steve would have stood there staring the whole time she was talking to him.

"Take those kids their coffee before the pitch a fit, Steve," Bucky ordered, pointing his spatula at Steve. Bucky was their cook, though the cafe’s food selection was limited to soups, sandwiches, and quesadillas. "Then go over there and compliment the handsome young man on his voice like you so obviously want to."

Steve blushed and mumbled something intelligible and inappropriate in Bucky’s general direction, but obediently finished making the coffees and carried them over to the teens under the window. “Sorry for the wait,” he said, but they were too caught up in themselves to even notice his presence beyond the sudden appearance of coffee cups on the table in front of them. Steve didn’t much mind. He turned away from them and looked towards the table with the Wilson family. Before he could even take a step towards them, he was flagged down by a patron at another table. 

Things got busy quickly, and the opportunity to approach Sam never presented itself. Natasha started the next round of karaoke and Steve got swept up in brewing coffee and taking people their soups and sandwiches. It was nearing closing time before Steve had time to so much as take a breath. He was wiping down the espresso machine when someone cleared their throat behind him.

Steve was halfway through saying “be right with you” when he looked up and actually saw who was leaning against the counter. “Hi, how may I help you?” Steve asked, sitting down the rag he’d been using without taking his eyes off of Sam.

"Hi," Sam said back with a smile that revealed a small gap in his teeth and made Steve whole body feel hot. "Some of the art on the walls have price tags?" 

"Yeah, they’re for sell," Steve told him. Most of the art were framed burlap sacks from all the coffee beans they ordered. They were cheaply priced at below $10. Steve’s art was also on burlap sacks, but they had stenciled (and some free hand) paintings on them.

"What about the ones without price tags?" Sam asked.

"Also for sell, but the price is up to the artist."

"Where can I find the artist?"

"You’re looking him," Steve said.

Sam raised a disbelieving eyebrow. “You painted those?”

"Don’t sound so shocked," Steve stated.

"Sorry," Sam said with another smile that made his cheekbones practically touch his eyes. "Just, you’re the full package. Beauty and talent."

Steve smiled back. “Funny, I was thinking the same thing about you.”

Sam tilted his head to the side as he leaned a little more over the counter and gave Steve an obvious appraising look. “So, how much for that one?” He asked; pointing, without turning around, in the general direction of one of Steve’s paintings of a swooping bird.

"How much you willing to pay?"

"How about the price of dinner and a movie?" Sam offered.

"That depends, are you asking me to dinner and a movie, or are you just giving me the money for it?"

Sam grinned, “whichever you want.”

"In that case, pick me up tomorrow at six and the painting is yours."

"It’s a date," Sam said. He extended a hand towards Steve. "Sam Wilson, by the way."

"I know," Steve said, wrapping his hand around Sam’s and shaking it for a bit longer than strictly necessary. "Steve Rogers."

"I know," Sam said, tilting his head towards Natasha who watching them from her spot by the karaoke equipment across the room. She smirked when she caught Steve looking at her. Back at their table, Sam’s mother and the rest of their group was watching them and smiling.


End file.
